


Different Loves

by weaselett



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9267632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaselett/pseuds/weaselett
Summary: Collection of stories written for fandom stocking - different pairing per chapter.





	1. Promises Waiting - for dunderklumpen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dunderklumpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunderklumpen/gifts), [Nea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nea/gifts), [Wendymypooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wendymypooh/gifts), [sexycazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexycazzy/gifts), [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts), [Zippit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippit/gifts).



He was drawn to statistics, drawn to the answers they could give him, the explanations. 

It was a different draw from that which led him to psychology, the answers he sought were different. 

He might inherit his mother's illness. He might be able to help her manage her illness, he can explain her better for knowing the things he was taught. For seeing the things he sees as a member of the BAU.

He does have a mark. He has always had a mark. He has always desperately wanted to know what the mark means, who it ties him to. 

Spencer can remember the way his mother would rub her thumb over the mark on his arm, a smile ghosting across her lips, wonder brightening her eyes, even on a bad day. It was a promise, she's told him, that there was someone out there for her boy. 

That he wouldn't be alone. 

Wouldn't be left she'd whispered against his skin when she'd held him tight, after. 

He walks into the BAU, his first day, wrapping up in layers, his mark hidden away, and it feels like a step closer to something. Statistics told him that marks were rare, that staying in one place his whole life limits the odds of him meeting his special someone. 

The BAU means using his degrees, means learning, observing. It means travelling.

A year in he's topless in the locker room, his bloodied shirt discarded on the floor, when Hotch walks in and freezes. 

Spencer stills himself, aware of what Hotch is looking at, desperately hoping that it doesn't mean that. 

His mother told him it was a promise. 

Hotch shakes his head after a moment, gaze lifting to meet Spencer's, his expression schooled. “I didn't know you had a mark.”

Spencer shrugs, pulling tight muscles, “It's another thing that makes me different.”

“It's not mine,” Hotch replies, thumb resting on his wedding ring, “but I've seen it before.”

Hope flares, bright and hopeless in his chest, “Oh.”

Hotch's smile is soft, “You'll meet.” Another promise, from another someone who matters. 

A year passes, Elle leaves, Gideon leaves, things change and then Hotch smiles at him in passing one morning. It's so out of place, out of keeping with everything, it's a smile he's only given him once before and Reid can't keep the hope squashed, couldn't contain it no matter how much he took. 

His hands shake, and he shifts his focus. Halloween is the best time of year, he loves Halloween, and then there's David Rossi, the David Rossi. 

He doesn't think, doesn't notice the way Hotch looks between them, not then. It hits him later, sitting on the jet on the way home, listening to the others, but watching Rossi as he stares out of the window, lost in his own separate thoughts. 

“I haven't told him.” Hotch tells him, weeks later, when the awareness has become too much, “It's not my place.”

Hotch is right. At least, statistics and psychology agree. Everything he's read, it's been chance, the marked make the discovery, it isn't revealed by another. 

But that might just be a romantic notion they want to keep close. 

He waits, more patiently than he thinks Morgan ever could, for the chance, for opportunity. It isn't easy, the cases aren't easy, and it's after Owen that he can't any more. 

He times it as well as he can, mid morning, when almost everyone's gone to lunch and Rossi's grabbing a coffee from the kitchen. It's jarring, making contact with Rossi, fumbling to protect the file he's carrying while making sure the hot coffee covers his shirt well enough to give him the excuse. 

The file lands on the floor and his shirt follows, pulled off to get the hot liquid away from his already reddened skin. There's a brief moment as he stands breathing hard that he thinks he's failed, and he can't look up just keeps stammering apologies. 

Then Rossi's hand brushes his arm. Brushes his mark and he freezes, not even daring to breathe. 

The silence drags and he finally looks up, meeting Rossi's stunned gaze. Waiting. 

“Statistics say I might never meet my mark mate.” He doesn't mean to say it, doesn't mean for the words to come tumbling out, but he can't wait any more. “It's so rare, and people are so wide spread...”

Rossi's hand shifts to grip his arm briefly, the words finally drawing a reaction. “Looks like we both got lucky then.”

He moves, steps away again, Spencer's gaze fixed on him, and he undoes the top few buttons on his shirt and pulls it open, exposing his mark.

Spencer's mark. 

He moves without thinking, needing contact, to feel the slightly raised mark that could almost be a scar. 

His hand isn't shaking any more.


	2. Happiness - for Nea

He's a tactile person. It's a thing, a thing that helps with his whole easy going persona. 

It also helps with the need he has to just touch Reid all the time. People don't question it, it draws less attention than it could, because he touches everyone. He is the casual touch guy. 

He'd been called out, just the once, by Hotch. Some touches, his boss had said, were more casual, more accepted than others. Fluffing Reid's hair every five minutes, and occasionally touching his thigh, not so much. Especially not in the deep south, when they're already fighting people with regards to the victims sexuality. 

Derek has to give it to Hotch, he'd been as subtle, and respectful, as he could be given the circumstances. Neither of them wanted trouble, and Derek really didn't want to get his boy beaten up by the locals who had issue enough with a black FBI agent. 

He keeps most of his public touches to the jet after that. No one comments if his hand is on Spencer's thigh the whole ride home, and they laugh with them when he fluffs his hair when he wakes. 

He watches over Spencer when he sleeps on the couch, tired out from the case, or sometimes a migraine that just won't let go. Sometimes that means just sitting as close as he can and standing watch with a bottle of water and a painkiller, other times it means sitting with him, Spencer's feet in his lap, converse abandoned on the floor. 

They share hotel rooms by default, both Hotch and JJ separately smiling and commenting on not minding the budget saving. Bad cases have them falling asleep in each other's arms, really bad ones end with them hot and heavy, the pleasure of being together over riding the nightmares that threaten them all. 

It's nice, to be able to wake up beside the man he loves damn near every morning. 

There was a time, not so long ago, that he rarely woke up in bed with someone, regardless of the activities of the night before. 

He'd lived in unhappy denial of what he really wanted. The past had stalked him for too long, but it's getting there. He's crossed the biggest hurdle and he's finally happy, really happy. 

Happy enough that he'll, finally, be taking a partner home to meet his mom. 

He's looking forward to the look on her face when she sees who he's bringing, and expecting the glee on his sisters faces when they get to rub in how right they'd been, years before.

He likes being happy, an loves being able to share everything with the man he loves. 

Finally.


	3. Family - for wendymypooh

She doesn't work right up to the line this time. 

No one makes her, no one says anything that makes her feel like she'd be irresponsible to work until the bitter end, but this time she needs the time to prepare. 

After all it's not just her and Will this time. Henry's used to be an only child, to getting all of his parents attention when they are there. He's old enough that he's his own person and is going to have opinions on having to share his life with a sibling. 

She was the younger sibling, so she only knows that side of things. Her sister wasn't bad, she'd been excited at being an older sister, and most of time it had been good. That doesn't mean she can't remember times when Ros had been mean to her, when she'd obviously resented not always coming first. 

That she hadn't occasionally felt like an extra. The intruder into a life that started before her. 

It happens, JJ knows that, but she's going to spend this time, her last chance, to just be with Henry. Enjoy the last month of being a parent of a single, lone child. 

They take a few trips, she's lucky enough to be able to get around still while heavily pregnant. She feels a little bad for Kate, and Haley before, who'd spent the last months stuck on bed rest waiting. 

Henry talks to the bump, tells his unborn sibling about the things they can see, and a few people smile at him, amused. It's nice, that her son is so excited that there's going to be a new member of their family, and not disappointed that this will not be a furry addition. 

Will spends what time with them he can, but he's saving his time so has some for the baby too. She can tell it's hard on him, and she makes an effort to give her boys time alone together too.

Trips to see Kate and little Lisa, shopping trips with Garcia, little things that she wants to do or has been invited to. She can't make excuses, or they would both notice, and Will would feel bad.

Will talks to the bump too, and it makes it hard when all she wants is to feel him inside her. He blushes, deep red, when she pulls him down onto the bed, hands holding his hips, letting him know exactly what she wants, needs. 

She gets her way in the end, then wakes to her husband apologising to the little one. 

She only at him once he's in the bathroom, rubbing at the spots the baby kicks in response. She takes as much as she can, when she can, there's a dry spell coming after all. 

This time, the baby comes late. Two days past her due date she calls Will, then her mom, and this time it's her husband not Hotch who drives her to the hospital. 

Ten long hours later they welcome their new baby, another little boy into the world and she's just relived for the first hour. She did it, the baby's here, and healthy, and their lives are about to become much more interesting. 

They talked through names, fought over them, but in the end Will agreed with her, understood why, even if he can't smile at the name yet. 

Michael. 

Hastings didn't win. He changed her life, their lives, and she hates him, because of what he took from them. This is her victory, she won, he's dead and won't ever have this. 

Her little Michael is perfect, in the same way she remembers thinking of Henry when she first held him. He even has a little tuft of blonde hair already.

Will curls around her on the bed, balanced a little precariously, watching their son as he clamps on and sets about his first feed. The little squeaks and gurgles are the only sounds that break the silence as they enjoy this. 

JJ smiles at Will over Michael's head, and he laughs as they both hear Henry coming, the crack around the door enough to let in the sound of their elder boy talking excitedly to his grandmother about his new brother. 

Soon enough they'll be back home, and she's going to enjoy all the time she has with her boys. The months will drag in some ways, her work always at the back of her mind, but she'll always treasure the time she gets with them.

All of them.


	4. Freeway - for Sexycazzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few different ways these could have met, or gotten together.  
> Crossover/Fusion with Stargate, and a few AUs

Penelope Garcia never, ever, expected to be tapped for anything. 

She was a hacktivist, then she'd gotten herself caught and been relegated to the basement of a NSA building and tasked with doing a tonne of stuff that she never wanted to do. 

She is far from the perfect employee. 

Yet here she is. 

The SGC is one of those myths that aren't myths. She's poked their firewalls on and off over the years. Talked to some people, followed some conspiracies. Normal stuff. 

She feels out of place, in her heels and bright colours as she's lead through the grey halls to the room that her orientation is going to be held. The guy showing her way, cute as anything, with the brightest smile, is great. Derek Morgan, he hadn't given his rank, and she hadn't asked, happy to let herself feel like she hasn't just enlisted in the military, thank you very much. 

The room is almost full, just a few chairs spare, and she gives Derek a wave before stumbling across the room to fall into the chair beside the one person who looks as out of place as she is. 

Purple scarf, sweater vest and a general absent professor air, he looks so young among all the scientist and military types around him, and he's clinging to his bag for dear life. 

She couldn't not be the one to take that spare chair. It's totally a mercy mission and nothing to do with the tug on her bosom when she looks at him. 

Two cute guys in one day, and almost no chance they would ever be interested in her. 

“I'm Penelope.” She offers the guy her hand, bright smile in place, and he stares at it for a long moment before he waves shyly, offering a smile of his own.

“I'm sorry, I don't really shake hands, at least not until I really know a person.” She shrugs and lowers her hand, “I'm Spencer.”

“Nice to meet you Spencer, just looking at you makes me feel better about coming here.”

“I'm glad, and I'm similarly glad to see someone else closer to my age.”

They both silently take in all the over forties occupying the other chairs.

“Well let's hope we're on the same team.” 

 

-

People have knee jerk reactions, and more to the point, people love stereotypes. 

Penelope Garcia, so the world screams at her when she wakes in the isolation room, her chest aching something fierce, is not meant to be a Sentinel. 

She remember getting shot, vividly. She can smell the cordite, the sweat, her own blood, and her ears are ringing with the gun shot. 

She thinks she remembers killing the man who tried to kill her. It makes her skin crawl, and her sense of denial works overtime. 

She isn't that person. 

Hotch told her, years ago now, she's not a monster. 

Penelope wonders if it was like this for JJ, after she killed Hankel, but it can't have been, not really. JJ was trained knowing she might have to kill someone, knowing that she would come online. 

JJ fits the expectations of a female Sentinel. She was sporty, active, protective and fierce. 

Penelope is none of those things, but she'd know, could remember her mom being told the results of the tests. Everyone thought she would be latent forever, maybe she would have been, if she hadn't joined the BAU. If she hadn't have poked her nose where it didn't belong. 

She shakes, alone in the sealed room, waiting while the nightmare lurks, while her senses mess with her head. 

It feels like she's been waiting forever when Derek steps into the room, and she flinches as noise filters in when the door opens, fighting to remember what she'd been told. 

She should have been paying more attention. 

Derek sits on the bed beside her and reaches out, thumb wiping the tears from her cheeks. She gasps with the brief contact, eyes widening as her senses drop back to what she's always considered normal. 

She stares, for the longest time, at Derek, her Derek, her guide, and he smiles at her. 

“I killed him.” Her voice breaks on the words, more tears flow, “I killed a man Derek, I...”

“Hey hey,” Derek gently pulls her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “You did what any other person would have done, in that situation. He tried to kill you, your instincts kicked in.”

“God.” She whispers the word, still shaking, even as she draws back, desperately needing to see his face, “I never wanted to....”

Derek frames her face with her hands and shakes his head, “I know that baby girl, and if I could change it for you, I totally would.”

She swallows hard, closing her eyes for a moment, “What's going to happen to me?”

“They're going to keep us here, train us some, then it's up to you,” She can tell he's holding back, feel it in a way she couldn't before he'd touched her cheek. 

“You came online, when I did?” She asks the question, unable to stop herself from reaching for his hand. 

“Yeah, right in the middle of church,” Derek laughs softly shaking his head. “Penelope, there's something else....”

Her eyes widen, the urge to move away from him fighting with the building need to keep him close. He is hers, in a way she had never imagined possible, “Nothing bad, please Derek...”

He smiles, shaking his head, “Not bad, but it's got people shaking their heads.”

“Derek.” It's sharp, but she's hurting, and struggling with it all. 

“Spencer came online as well,” He holds up a hand, “they wouldn't let us both in, not with it being so unprecedented, and your senses all over the place.”

She stares at him, disbelieving for the longest time, “As a Sentinel?”

She can't remember what it said in boy wonder's file. She likes it when he surprises her after all. 

Derek shakes his head, “Looks like you're all about bucking the trend baby girl, you've got yourself two guides.”

-

They always run together, on a full moon.

Derek has a longer stride than her, and he's quicker when they hunt smaller prey. It still takes both of them to bring down deer, on the occasions when they spend more than a few stolen hours in the woods. 

They both stiffen when they sense the intruder, weary of the smell that Penelope's sure is familiar, she just can't place it. 

The wolf that crawls into their clearing on his belly is slim, and a little bit scrawny. His fur is in disarray, and he smells like books. 

Penelope stares, unblinking for the longest time, and he whines, ears dropping back. 

She steps out from behind Derek's bulk, tail starting to wag as she connects the dots. She licks Spencer's mouth in greeting, giving a little yip of excitement.

Morgan is a little more wary, tense, but he's fighting his instincts that put Spencer as a competitor. She's been his, and just his, for long enough that the wolf side has claimed her as his mate. 

She stands between them, tail wagging, smiling a wolf grin before she bounces from one to the other. She wants them both, needs them both, they will be a pack now. More like the wolves that howl from a distance, who won't come near them because they don't smell quite right. 

She'll have them both.


	5. No Stranger Thing - for outruntheavalanche

“I strongly dislike him.” Are the first words that Penelope uses to describe Luke Alvez to Derek. 

It's hard, some days, not seeing her chocolate god everyday, not sharing the work with him. Their bond tingles, fragments of his joy, his wonder at every little thing his son does bleeding through. It makes the days harder, longer, knowing her bond mate is happy and away from all of this, while she still has to look at photos of dead people far too often. 

And then things get even harder, because Hotch is gone. She loves Emily, so so much, and she has some joy to send to her boy, to answer his, but it's so quickly tempered by the loss, the ache.

She knows she goes too far, she's too desperate for the next few weeks. She's quick to jump on Luke, because he's there, and he's the first one to come after. A part of her knows she should go easy, but she just can't, not with everything. 

Derek drags her to the Morgan household, after Spencer's gone, on his flight to his mom, and she curls up between him and Savannah, watching little Hank totter around the floor. 

At first she'd hated it, a little, that the bond she had with Derek was platonic, like he was a missing part of her, like how people describe twins. She'd dreamed, as a little girl, of a dark handsome hero coming for her, a prince who would fall over himself for her. Derek fitted that, but years on, their bond means more to her than anything. 

She loves him, he's hers, and she loves Savannah and their little family. One day, hopefully not so far off, she'll have the same, have that other part of her fulfilled. 

They talk, once Hank's down for the night, Savannah making her excuses and dropping a kiss on her cheek and Derek's mouth before stumbling upstairs to bed, leaving them alone. Derek holds her as she cries; over what's been lost, and what's been done. It needs to end, and she'll hunt, because she needs to know, can't take not being absolutely certain they're safe and happy. 

Derek doesn't offer to come back. She doesn't ask. They do have things handled, and they have more people than ever. There's Stephen now, and Emily's back and there's even Luke.

Little Hank needs his dad.

Penelope doesn't ask when Derek smiles at her, the secret smile and the taint of smugness on their bond. She's said something, that's told him something, and she doesn't want to know. It's good, is what his face, his feelings, say, and she'll hold on to that. 

The days crawl past, when she doesn't have traces to run for the team, she spends hours poking at anything and everything, looking for any signs of Peter Lewis. Kevin drops by, offers support, but they aren't what they were, and he never had her skills with the deeper net. 

The long hours are why it takes her a while to realise the bed she's woken up in isn't her own, and that a very familiar dog is staring at her expectantly. 

“Oh my god.” It's not her voice either and moving, the blanket slipping from her chest, it's not her body either. There's an edge of desperation to her breathing as she grasps for her link to Derek, sagging when she finds that whatever else has happened, she still has that. 

She swallows hard, closes her eyes and centres herself, hands flat on the bed sheets on either side. It takes a good few minutes before she's got her self under control enough to open her eyes, taking in the room. 

She's spent years with profilers, more than enough time to pick up on some of the basics, enough to recognise that she's in what is undoubtedly Alvez's bedroom, and probably his body. She's grateful he isn't into sleeping in the nude, at least she can just grab a shirt and jeans from the cupboard and pull them on before she steps into the bathroom. 

She's aware of the dog, of Roxy, following her every move and she's also painfully aware that she has no idea what the dog requires first thing in the morning. Or where anything she might need is in the man's apartment. 

She knows this kind of thing can happen, she just never thought it would happen to her. Or that her feelings about someone would be such that it would happen. 

Penelope stares at the face in the mirror, at newbie's face. At Luke's face. She sighs, sagging, the universe is telling her something, and she's just going to have to get with the programme, or she, _they'll_ , be stuck like this for a while. 

She jumps when Roxy nudges her leg with her nose, tail wagging hopefully. There's a moment, as she stares at the dog, when she wonders if she can really do this, but she squares her shoulders and steps out of the bathroom and through the apartment, relieved that it's fairly open plan. 

Roxy prods her into the kitchen and she's about to start hunting through the cupboards when someone bangs on the door. She stills, glancing at Roxy then the door, biting her lip, then she realises that she can hear her own voice, her _actual_ voice. 

She crosses the room so fast she almost trips over her own feet, fumbling at the locks before she manages to get the door open, and then she's staring at herself, looking much less put together than she would like.

“Garcia?” Alvez asks, wavering, and she realises that he's not convinced this has been a clean switch.

“Newbie.” She replies, automatically shifting her posture in response to him, only to still, feeling a blush spread over his cheeks. She hadn't thought, hadn't processed, the stress, all the change, she's been so confrontational with him, it's insane. “I'm sorry.”

She watches herself hesitate, eyes widening a little before her shoulders move through Alvez's signature shrug. “I've gotten used to it.”

Penelope steps back from the doorway silently, letting him step into his own apartment. Somehow he's managed to locate one of her rare pairs of flat shoes, and she's suddenly even more aware of her own height. 

Alvez pushes the door shut behind himself, laughing when Roxy trots across the room to inspect him, head tilted on one side, tail wagging. Alvez buries his hands in his dog's fur, shaking a little, “I am so grateful you aren't allergic.”

Penelope stands awkwardly for a moment, before she breaks the silence, “I haven't, I wasn't sure what her morning needs are.”

Alvez freezes for a moment before smiling, and he doesn't look like her. He moves, a little awkwardly, as unused to her body as she is to his, rooting out a lead and some doggy bags, “Toilet break.” 

Roxy dances around their legs, and Alvez clips the lead on to her collar, then nods to a pair of sneakers by the door, “You'll have to take her lead, I don't know if I could hold her.”

She nods, slipping the shoes on and taking the lead, watching mutely as he grabs the keys then motions for her to head out the door first. She blanks most of the trip outside, finding herself standing on the grass outside the apartment block, Roxy pacing, hunting for the right place. 

“This isn't what you normally do is it?” She asks, not really thinking. Alvez shrugs, shivering a little in the cool morning air. It's early, earlier than she tends to wake without a case to drag her into work, but she feels awake. The body she's in knows this time in the morning. 

“No, we normally go for a run,” he shrugs, “wears her out, lets her get some air before she's stuck in the apartment again. I have someone who walks her for me, in the afternoon, and feeds her if I'm not here.” He shifts, uncomfortable and he struggles to know what to do with his arms, or hands, watching his dog as she does her business. 

They haven't bonded at all before this. She's fought him, refused to accept him where she was more open with Stephen. It's awful, she knows more about a man she's been working with for less time than she does about Alvez, who she's been working with for months. 

They have no reference for this. 

“So what do we do?” Alvez asks, hands moving to his hips in a way that says he's used to pockets. Sadly, she doesn't own much clothing with pockets. 

“I'm not sure,” She chews her lip, _his_ lip, “we work through it I guess.” 

Alvez frowned, “I know, this kind of thing isn't, unheard of, but I've never.....”

She shakes her head, feeling a little lost, “I've never known anyone it happened to, but there was a case, with an unsub, so I've encountered it, but, I don't know....”

“So head in?” 

She nods, and watches as he clears up after Roxy then leads them inside, “We should call one of the others, for a lift...”

Alvez nods, holding out her phone, obviously grabbed with her purse when he'd left her place, “I got a taxi here.” She'd wondered briefly, then remembered he didn't know what her car looked like either. 

She hits speed dial, her new number one, the familiar ache in her chest making itself known. Emily is the best bet, and the first choice given that she's their boss. 

It takes all of a minute to convince the other woman of what's happened, then it''s just a matter of waiting. 

-

After a week, of trying to keep going as through nothing has changed, Penelope is on the edge. 

She has to use the men's, because the FBI is stupid and don't have mixed gender bathrooms. She had to adjust everything in her office, because she's taller and her back works differently, damn it. She's sleeping on his couch, not wanting to go home to her own apartment as him, to have to answer the questions her noisy neighbours would be asking after. 

Watching Alvez every day, for the short spells they spend in each others company, so not her. He can't go out with the team on cases, her body isn't built for his work, so he's catching up on his formal profiling training. 

It might even be a bonus for him. Chance to get up to speed in the learned part of profiling. 

Good for him. 

Penelope sighs, swinging her legs off the couch, resting her head in her hands. Roxy whines at her from her position by he kitchenette, and Penelope sighs again. 

How is this her life? 

Derek, awake for much better, cuter, reasons than her sends a burst of reassurance, and damn him, _amusement_ down their link. She sends a burst of frustration back, tinged with just a little affront. 

She hasn't visited him since the swap, but they've talked on Skype, and on the phone, and she knows he thinks it's hilarious. He also refuses to tell her what exactly they should be doing to fix things, demurring with the same 'you need to work it out for yourselves' that Cruz had given them.

No one else has offered anything constructive either. 

The lights flick on and she flinches, covering her eyes with one hand and flailing with the other. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I thought you would have heard me.” Alvez half apologizes, stood in the doorway in her least suggestive sleepwear. “I could see you were awake.”

Penelope sighs, yet again, lowering her hands, “Verbal warnings are great.”

Alvez just grins at her, “I'll remember next time.”

There's a moment then Alvez heads into the kitchenette, pulling out the makings of what looks suspiciously like hot chocolate. 

Penelope glares and he laughs. “Seriously, I have been craving chocolate all day, I ate loads of healthy food, I am not going to ruin your body with one late night hot chocolate.” 

“You can at least make one for me as well.” She replies, shifting to give Roxy the attention the dog has decided she deserves. 

Alvez waves the second mug at her and she rolls her eyes, leaning forward to give Roxy a quick hug. If they ever sort this out, she's going to miss the fluffly morning greetings. 

There's a peaceful period, while she watches him prepare their drinks, then he's bringing them over and she hesitates before shifting across. It's strange, sitting alongside her own body, aware of her own body heat. 

“Thanks,” she says, wrapping her hands, her _giant_ hands, around the mug. 

Alvez pokes at the cream and marshmallows on top of his own, and Penelope finds her self unable to look away as he licks the cream from his fingertip. _Fingertip_.

She swallows hard, shifting a little and drawing yet another laugh from him. 

She's learned a lot, in a week, about him. He's not a bad guy, they have some things in common, and he has a great dog. That doesn't mean that his laughter doesn't draw a blush to her cheeks. 

Penelope ducks her head, running her thumb up and down the side of her mug for a moment before taking a drink, loosing herself in the taste of a really good hot chocolate. She groans, eyes closing. 

She feels Alvez shift, hears his mug placed on the table and opens her eyes to find him only inches away, expression intent. 

She doesn't jump this time, just numbly let's him take the mug from her and place it on the table. Then it's just the two of them; Roxy's over by the door, her back to them, snoring. 

“Wha....”

He shakes his head, reaching out to wipe his thumb across her top lip, and suddenly she's very aware of how male she is at the moment. 

She swallows hard, “Alvez....”

“Penelope.” Her name, her own voice, but not, and he leaning in. She reaches out, pressing a hand against his right hip, supporting him even as he rests his left hand on her knee. Their lips met and she sighs, shifting her hand to pull him closer.

She should totally be freaking out. She's kissing _herself_ , and yet, all she wants is more. 

She groans into his mouth, slipping her other hand into the hair at the bottom of his skull, hair much longer than she's used to in these situations. He moves, knees resting against the couch on either side of her, their chests pressed together as they deepen the kiss. 

They come for air a few times, then she's kissing her way down the side of his neck, enjoying the little sounds he makes, knowing _exactly_ what they mean. 

“Penelope,” He shifts against her and she groans.....and then she's the one standing. 

She almost topples onto him, shaking a little with the shock of the change, but he manages to catch her, the advantage of being the one seated. 

They're both breathing heavily, eyes wide and she almost pulls away, only, she really doesn't want to. She leans into him, letting him support her as she kisses him again. There's a brief moment, as her world shifts, that she thinks maybe they've switched back again, then she realises he's just picked her up. 

“I can think of somewhere better to take this.” He says, more words than she thinks she would be capable of herself and she smiles, trying for sultry. 

“I'm all yours, newbie.”

He laughs, and it runs through her body, drawing an answering sigh as she swings her legs up to help him carry her. There's a brief flash of smugness from Derek over her link, then she shuts it down, posts their version of a do not disturb notice, and presses a kiss to _Luke's_ shoulder.


	6. Linked - for zippit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three different universes, but somehow they always end up together.  
> Daemons, Jaegers and the force oh my.

It's accidental, when his hand brushes against Kiv's body. The street lighting is terrible and the smoke just amplifies the issue. Derek wouldn't even have realised if it hadn't been for Hotch's flinch and the wide eyed stare over Kate's body.

Kiv skitters away from him, and away from Talia as she steps in close, fur standing on end as he runs to Hotch.

They're silent the longest time until Kate groans and they are both instantly back in work mode.

He wonders, later, if that one touch had been part of the reason that Hotch had advised against his being given the New York position. He just doesn't want to believe that of the other man.

Still he keeps his distance, he doesn't want to make their relationship any more difficult than it already is.

It's a surprise when Kiv starts to spend more time in close proximity to Talia, edging closer and closer on the flights home from cases.

He's stunned when he visits Hotch in the hospital and Kiv limps over and collapses against Talia.

They don't talk about it then, don't mention how close their daemons are while they're still holding one another at arms length.

Until it's just them, alone in the darkened office, boxes spread around them. Talia's curled up, brush resting protectively over Kiv's smaller body.

Derek reaches out, resting a hand on Hotch's wrist, licking his lips. Hoping he hasn't been reading this whole thing wrong.

Hotch stills, but he doesn't pull away.

“I'm here,” Derek tells him, sincere, and so hopeful, “when you're ready, I'm here.”

Hotch shudders, resting his hand over Derek's, “It might take a little time....”

He doesn't say what they both know, and Derek doesn't answer with words of his own understanding. It doesn't need to be said.

-

It's a different type of monster than the one he spent years fighting, but he answers the call.

He might not find anyone who's compatible, it might take years, but he's going to do this. These monsters have taken from him the things that the human monsters failed to, and he won't stand by and see it happen to others if there's something he can do.

It's taken so long for them to put together a response, a way to fight these things on even vaguely even ground.

Derek wonders, as he reads to his kids, tucked up their little accommodation cell on base, if Spencer's helping with the science, putting those less used degrees to work after years of using the others.

He knows where some of the others are, but so many have scattered, moved away from the ocean, further inland.

After months of drift compatibility tests he barely takes in the faces of his opponents any more, and even if he had, he doesn't know if he would have recognised the other man.

He wins, but the fight had felt more fluid, more collaborative than any of his other fights and he can see the training master smiling.

Derek hesitates, twirling his staff for a moment before he holds out a hand to the other man, stilling as the man tightens his grip.

“It's been a while Derek.”

He stares, unashamedly, at Aaron Hotchner, the man who'd walked away, and then he smiles.

“The beard's different.”

Hotch shrugs, “Haven't shaved in a while.”

“Maybe you should consider doing that, that beard is going to be a bitch in one of those suits.” Derek says, smiling for the first time in what feels like years.

They break records, speeding through training and into a Jaeger of their very own. The BAU was a family, they knew each other's worst memories, and their most treasured, that hasn't changed.

The kids gel together, bond on shared hurts. They sleep piled up in the bed when they're out, a new little family, formed in a bad situation, out of the best intentions.

-

Every time they see each other, every time their paths cross it's the same.

They sneak away, like so many others, and steal a few moments for themselves. You never know when it might be your last chance.

Morgan started in the resistance young, working with his father on his little ship, smuggling information and people along with his legal cargo. The empire never twigs, never knows that Hank Morgan is hiding anything, in the end he dies at the hand of some random criminal.

It doesn't make his father any less a hero, to him or his sisters, but it stings.

He'd been aggressive, first time he meet Hotch. The man doesn't come across like the others, and they hadn't met in context. In fact, he'd almost shot Hotch on sight, worried for his own mission, only stopped by a pressure that didn't let his gun raise.

The first time he saw Hotch use his rifle, he'd been gone.

Hotch could get in places that people like Morgan couldn't. The Empire didn't look twice at the son of a dead senator who'd been on their side up until a rebel had put a knife in his back.

Morgan followed in his father's footsteps. Transporting goods and people, collecting gossip at every stop, more intel, more potential moves they could make to undermine the Empire.

In the days, random and spread out, they relearn one another, joke about the kids they could raise. What would have happened if they'd even had the chance to train.

They could have been the greatest, Morgan swears, pressing kisses down Aaron's spine. Famous Jedi's, hunting down bad guys, their padawan's trailing behind.

Hotch just laughs, and that's enough.


End file.
